2poles 1hole Here

It had. It was the bruised purple one.

I stared at the left pole first. It was smooth, cool-looking, with a single hairline scratch running up its side like a vein. The right pole was identical, except for a faint smear of rust near its base. I looked at the hole. Nothing. Dirt, maybe roots. The air smelled of wet moss and my own boredom. 2poles 1hole

The poles were exactly as promised: two of them, gray and brushed metal, standing waist-high in a clearing of ferns. Between them, a hole. Not a pit or a crater—just a hole, dark as a pupil, about the size of a dinner plate. A small wooden sign said LOOK LONGER . It had

I walked back to my car. The gravel path seemed longer than before. The forest seemed quieter. And for the rest of the day, I kept glancing at my reflection in windows, checking to see if the sky behind my eyes had changed. It was smooth, cool-looking, with a single hairline